Nico gulps her drink in one swallow, and then says in her slow, Teutonic drone, “Bender, come up to my flat. The ghost of JIM MORRISON told me to write songs. So, I’ve been writing songs for my upcoming album. I am a big Reggie Bender fan; I wish to play these songs for you”. Trying not to gape at her luscious breasts, I agree to listen to her songs.
Nico and I walk, arms around one another, into the cold, drizzly Berlin night. Destination: Nico’s flat.
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